


All That's Broken

by JewFlexive



Series: All That's Ours [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Twins, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Narcissa Black Malfoy, Divination, F/M, Family Secrets, M/M, Minor Character Death, More couples to come, Platonic Soulmates, Severitus, Slow Burn, Slytherin Pride, first installment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-13 20:32:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13578420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JewFlexive/pseuds/JewFlexive
Summary: “I don’t know, Rose. It seems like you’re just looking for trouble here— Potter and his ilk don’t want us in their “Association.” And they don’t need us. Look, I’m always your second, you know that. But you always call him Harry. Just Harry. Almost like you know him.”“Because I do know him— probably better than he knows himself. When you say he doesn’t need us… that’s where you’re wrong, Draco. They do. He does. My entire life I’ve been wanting to make a difference in this war. It took my mum from me. It shackled my dad to a fate he never wanted and didn’t deserve. It broke my family. So if you think I’m going to just sit on the sidelines and watch the Gryffs stumble through a system they don’t understand because it might make them uncomfortable you’ve got another thing coming. I’ve Seen it, Draco. Harry can’t do this alone, and he shouldn’t have to. Not when I— not when we can help. And we need to if this is going to work. So. Are you with me or not?”{Draco is buckling under the weight his father’s schemes, Rose is realizing that trying to connect with a brother who thinks he’s an orphan is more difficult than she imagined, and Harry is about to discover that he’s much less alone than he thought he was.}





	1. no blinding light or tunnels to gates of white

****James Potter was dead.

James Potter was  _dead_.

They'd been betrayed.

Lily gazed, frozen, at the door to the nursery. She had bolted it shut, but any idiot could tell it would only buy her a few seconds once Voldemort climbed the stairway. But when she looked at her baby, her beautiful boy, Lily realized that’s all she really needed. Just another moment. Just another breath. 

She muffled a shriek as she heard doors slamming downstairs, Voldemort searching the kitchen and guest rooms. Fat, hot tears ran down her cheeks, causing her son to whimper as she pressed his face against hers. She kissed his forehead, his little button nose, and his fluttering eyelids, breathing in his perfect softness.

It wasn’t supposed to end this way.

Lily remembered their plans. How she was going to be in his House, and when that didn’t work out, how the two of them would beat the odds. And they had, in a way. She just had to hold their son to her breast to feel that fact stir in her bones.

She choked back a sob, remembering her arms were only half full. They were supposed to be a family. They were supposed to be okay. They were supposed to be at the cottage, cooing over their precious children, sharing soft, secret smiles.

She needed to let the truth pass her lips before there wasn’t a chance. She had kept too much from the people who loved her. Good Lord, James had died for a son who wasn’t his, a wife who had never loved him the way he had thought.

“Jonathan Alexander,” she whispered in her son’s ear, biting back a delirious giggle as he wrapped her hair in his sweet, chubby fists, smiling despite the horror around him. Steps were sounding on the stairs. “Jonathan Alexander, I love you.”

She suppressed a sob as a door down the hall was slammed, the house quivering from the magic. Her son sensed her distress, his smile melting away as he began to scream.

 “Jonny, Mummy has to tell you something,” she tried to comfort him, sounding less and less like herself as she frantically tried to explain. Tried to make something right. “Papa wasn’t here. Papa left with Rosie to keep us safe. Papa loves you. Oh, God, honey, Papa loves you. And Rosie misses you. It’s my fault, baby. I couldn’t leave. I wasn't brave enough. I’m so sorry we couldn’t be a family. I’m so, so sorry, lovey.”

Her baby clung to her, but the sounds and the mutterings about power and prophecies were coming closer. She lowered him into his bassinet for what she knew would be the final time, trying to soothe him as he screamed.

The door opened, the world exploding in a rush of boxes and baby toys, but Lily only knew one thing.

Her child was going to die crying.

_Oh dear God._

“Not my baby,” she heard herself screaming, wailing, tearing at her hair as she counted down her heartbeats. “Not my son, please not him!"

“Stand aside you silly girl,” Voldemort said impatiently, the cold high voice of her nightmares washing over her, chilling her more than Jonny’s screams. “Stand aside now.”

He brandished his wand and time seemed meaningless, lights too bright and sounds too loud as she began to grovel, shielding her son with her arms, hoping that mercy was possible, that somehow her perfect boy would live. Lily’s blood roared in her ears.

_God, let him live._

“Not him! Please, no, take me--- kill me instead---" 

He walked closer, telling her again to stand down, as if it was an option. As if she wasn’t a mother. As if she hadn’t sworn to all the gods in every pantheon that she would protect the dear little bundle she had held to her breast that first night to her last breath. Lily would gladly forfeit her life if doing so granted Jonathan even five more heartbeats.

“Please--- have mercy, please, mercy! Please---" 

The green light raced towards her and the world melted away. She was dimly aware of a high pitched laugh, of her body recoiling in fear. But all she heard was Jonny’s delighted babbling, Rosie’s quiet sounds of contentment as she nursed, Sev’s voice saying her name.

She saw Sev’s deep black eyes smiling at her. She saw the little boy at the swingset, naming the species of wildflowers around them as she laid her head on his shoulder. She saw the man who had kissed her and entered her like she was a blessing, like she was something special and good. She saw the father of her babies, mouth proud, cheeks wet, and hands shaking as he counted their tiny fingers and toes.

And she saw the little girl she’d never know. The angel with Lily’s eyes and her papa’s chin. The daughter she’d only had for seven precious, bright days. Another piece of her family she’d never be able to give a proper goodbye.

There was never going to be enough time for them.

But she wouldn’t give up the past eleven years for anything on Earth. 

As the emerald light struck her, her heart swelled with a radiant, fiery, _magical_ love. The last beats of her doomed heart sang their names.

_Jonathan_

_Severus_

_Rosaline_

_Jonathan_

_Severus_

_Ro---_

* * *

Her body was cold and it was all Severus could do not to break down sobbing. She was never supposed to be this cold. Not her. _Never_ her.

Severus held his son to his chest, running his shaking hand over the boy’s shaggy black mop of hair, as he stared at Lily’s body, willing her to get up. Willing her to come home.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Rose was at home with Draco, under Narcissa’s watchful eye. His baby girl would never know her mum. His son hadn’t had enough time to know Lily either.

He was on his knees, alternatively rocking Jonathan and staring blankly at his best friend and lover’s body. He knew he had but moments if he wanted to take his son home. Only a few minutes until the damn mutt came to collect his godson.

Severus started as Jonathan mumbled something inaudible. Easing his son off of him so he could look into his green, so painfully green eyes, Severus quirked an eyebrow. Was he hungry? Did he need to be changed? Merlin, he had only just learned Rosie’s tells…

“Mama,” his son murmured, looking at Severus with eyes wise beyond their years. “Mama gone.”

“Yes, Jonny,” Severus replied brokenly. “Your mama’s gone. But I’m here, son. I’m here now. I’m not leaving you.” He gave Jonathan a soft kiss on the forehead, almost fainting when the child smiled at him, his few white teeth pearly and wonderful and miraculous. Severus’ dark eyes drank in every piece of his son, ignoring for a moment that he still happened to look like Potter. He was so delicate, his eyelashes thick and dark, his cheeks full and rosy. Severus pushed Jon’s hair to the side.

Severus almost dropped the baby in shock. Near his son’s temple, still raw and bleeding, was a lightning-shaped scar, one that reeked of magic so dark, Severus’ mark flared to life. He muttered a Summoning Spell to procure the wand he had let fall to the floor thoughtlessly when he had first seen the ruined nursery.

He cast all the diagnostic spells he knew, spells that detected all kinds of injuries and damage, but found nothing of consequence. But the scar still remained stark and inflamed on his boy’s head. 

“Don’t you worry, Jonathan,” Severus told his son moments later, reassuring himself more than his son, who was as unconcerned as all hell having discovered the utter joy of yanking at Severus’ hair. Severus smiled softly. “We’ll get you checked up. You’ll be okay.”

Jonathan giggled like mad as Severus punctuated each word with little pokes and tickles, and for a moment, that was enough. For a magnificent, lovely, holy moment, it was just them, father and son, meeting each other again. Jonathan was beautiful, and Severus was comforted with knowing that somehow, despite all the terror in the world, all the terror in that very room, Lily and him had managed to create this little miracle.

And wasn’t Jonny a miracle? He’d survived a Killing Curse, for Merlin’s sake. He was going to be a legend, a hero. That thought made Severus clutch his son tighter as the ramifications of this realization sunk in. 

Severus was supposedly a Death Eater, one who boasted a fearsome reputation. The Dark Lord was dead. The Ministry would undoubtedly hold trials against Riddle’s followers. Albus had promised that he would testify for Severus, but Merlin knew how long the hearings would take.

And afterward? Even if he was acquitted, who in their right mind would entrust the care of the baby who somehow defeated the most powerful Dark wizard of their time to a former Death Eater?

Severus looked down at Lily’s body once more.

“I’ll come back for him, love,” he whispered into the still, musty air. “I just need to figure out how. It could take awhile until I’m cleared of all the charges. But he won’t be alone. Not ever, Lily. I promise you.”

He paused, awaiting her response before the situation rolled over him again. _She was gone. She was really gone_.

And he should be leaving. It wouldn’t do to be caught in the nursery like this. Severus eased himself into a standing position, still clutching Jonathan to his chest. The boy was so small, so fragile. Yet he had bested Voldemort himself. Severus was sure Albus had an explanation for that. He’d better.

Every step to the crib felt like dying. Severus had just gotten Jonathan back, had just ran his hands through his boy’s hair for the first time in over a year. But Severus was a Slytherin, and that meant doing what was necessary, no matter the personal cost.

As he put Jonathan into the crib, he sung a verse of the quiet song Rosaline Evans used to sing to Lily every night before bed. Severus had never seen _The Wizard of Oz_ , but he knew the lyrics _Somewhere Over The Rainbow_ like the back of his hand. Soon, Jonny was sleeping soundly.

“Just like your sister, huh?” Severus smiled once more, before turning back to Lily. 

He could hear Black’s infernal motorcycle in the distance now. He should go.

He readied to Disapparate, but thought better of it. Kneeling again, he caressed Lily’s face, lips that had always entranced him, eyes that had once been full of laughter. Severus kissed her forehead and eased her eyelids closed, before brushing his lips over those, too.

“I love you, Lily Marie Evans,” he murmured hoarsely, tears threatening to fall despite his shields. “Always have.”

Severus rose. As he dematerialized, a half-giant readied to enter the ruined Potter house. Severus’ last view of the nursery, his son sleeping soundly and Lily, a hero until the end, was burning in his mind as he made his final vow to the woman he loved.

“Always will.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So welcome to the "All That's Ours" 'verse! This is going to be a four book series, with a possible prequel in the works. I'm super, super proud of this baby, and I hope you find as much joy in reading it as I do in writing it! Some warnings before you proceed:
> 
> 1) Lucius Malfoy is a child abuser in this series. I will be posting trigger warnings for each chapter should needs must, but please be advised.  
> 2) Internalized homophobia is a thing that Draco, a product of an aristocratic, traditional community would most likely need to work through. If you're into an InstantlyComfortableWithHisSexuality!Malfoy, please look elsewhere. There are some awesome eighth year fics with that trope.  
> 3) I am going to try my best with Dumbledore's character. He makes some questionable decisions in the series, but I truly believe that he thought he had no other choice. That's a separate issue entirely, but hey, the man's human.  
> 4) Because of some serious changes made to Draco and Narcissa's story, canon is basically D.O.A. after this installment. I'll use the general ideas and themes, but the way events are carried out will be vastly different.  
> 5) I do not appreciate Sirius Black, and if he were not fictional, I would find him and punch him in the face. While the fic is not outright bashing him, it will include some negative characterization.  
> 6) Severus is a deeply complex person, but every choice he's made leading up to Chapter One has been for his children. Remember that, even if it doesn't seem obvious.  
> 7) Lastly, I will denote any chapters that may include triggering content. I am not infallible, however, so feel free to point out where I've left something out.
> 
> I am very much excited to begin this journey with all of you! Remember to leave a comment down below to tell me what you liked!
> 
> Sending hearts and pygmy puffs your way,  
> JewFlexive


	2. it all comes down to the simple things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night Harry Potter cast his Patronus on Privet Drive, Rose Snape was being soundly trounced at chess--- not that she minded.

“Damn you, Dragon,” Rose groaned as she lost her rook to her god-brother's knight. “I told you to go easy on me, you prat.” She glared at him, but her awful excuse for a best mate didn’t react in the slightest.

“I am,” Draco replied simply, clearly struggling not to grin as he plucked her doomed rook off the chessboard. “It isn’t my fault you’re shite at chess.”

Rose rolled her eyes before studying the board, but Draco was right. She was absolute pants at chess. It was quite embarrassing, honestly. By the looks of things, the tosser was going to beat her in less than five moves. There was no hope left for her.

“I forfeit,” she huffed, sinking back into the couch. “I’m terrible." 

“You are terrible,” Draco teased, flicking her king over. Rose tried not to feel a little pang in her heart as the little black monarch toppled off the board. _Poor bastard_. “You’re an utterly horrible embarrassment to me, your endlessly patient best mate, who has tried in vain for years to cultivate this useful skill within you.”

“Sod off, ” Rose grumbled. “You think I hung the moon and everyone knows it.” 

“Now, when did my clever insults morph into a discussion about a big gray rock in the sky?” 

“Since I needed a reminder of your undying love, you utter prick. And those insults were dreadfully weak, honestly.”

Draco sighed dramatically and proceeded to heave himself on the cushion next to Rose, who tried very hard not to look at him. He was making the kicked kitten face and Rose could never stay annoyed when he pulled the kicked kitten face. Draco, of course, knew this all too well, the manipulative menace that he was. 

“C’mon, Rosie,” he whined, laying his forehead on her shoulder. “You have many other talents. Singing. Charms. I’ve heard you even managed to hang the moon.”

Rose made the mistake of finding this witty. She tried to keep the giggles threatening to spill out of her between her lips, but it was like she hadn’t even bothered. Soon, the two of them were laughing like mad, Draco’s head falling into her lap and her hand finding his hair.

As they calmed, Draco began fiddling with a loose thread on her jumper, his brow wrinkling in thought.

“You _do_ know I love you, though,” he murmured. Rose’s hand stopped its ministrations on his mop of hair. “Right, Rose?”

“Of course, Drake,” she responded firmly. He did this often nowadays--- made sure that she knew he loved her. Rose tried not to jump to conclusions because of his new need to articulate her importance to him, but she couldn’t help but worry about what was going on in the Manor. Rose sighed and traced the lines on his forehead. She was so terribly worried, but still tried for levity, dusting off an old nickname from, God, nineteen-eighty something. “You alright, Sir Malfoy?”

Draco snorted, eyes gleaming, and Rose knew that the joke had been the right move. “All’s well, my lady,” he replied in mock-graveness. “I have vanquished the Black King, as the prophecy had foreseen.”

Rose laughed and pushed him of her lap, Draco landing on the floor with a loud _thump._ “The Black King was my champion, you cretin,” she declared loudly, giggling as he shot her a venomous glare, rubbing his arse. “I am afraid you must pay for your crime.” Rose leapt on top of Draco and began to tickle him mercilessly.

“I give, I give!” Draco gasped not three seconds in, but not before he let out a rather undignified shriek. “Mercy, mercy!”

Rose relented with a snicker and rolled over so that she was lying down on the soft carpet next to him.

“I’ll miss this,” she decided, as she glanced over at Draco’s wide grin. “Seeing as I somehow doubt this behavior being deemed acceptable at Hogwarts.”

“You’d be surprised,” Draco corrected, his head clearly back in his Common Room. “The Slytherins are only tight-laced outside the dormitories.”

“I’ll be sure to tell my dad.”

“It’s your funeral, then.”

Rose smirked and let the conversation lull into silence. That was the best thing about Draco--- sitting in silence was never awkward with him. Probably because they had met before either could do more than eat, cry, and shit, but Rose thought there was more to it than just being used to each other. Draco was less a friend and more a piece of her, a partner that she understood and who understood her. It was good, what they had. It always had been.

Rose hoped that Hogwarts wouldn’t change that.

Not that she was unaware of what an arse he was at school. Even Dad sometimes got put out from Draco’s comments, and he had a rather high tolerance for bullshit. Rose was too intelligent to ignore the possibility of how utterly bigoted those comments probably were. Never mind that they had drunk Muggle soda and played Muggle board games all summer--- never mind that they had listened to every Eternal album on repeat and could recite all the words to any Disney movie ever made. That was Cottage-Draco, and even though Cottage-Draco was the _real_ Draco, only Rose and her Dad had ever seen it.

Rose knew intellectually that Draco didn’t believe most of the anti-Muggle bullshite he spouted, not since 1993, at least. That it was a mask just as effective as her dad’s. But Rose didn’t know if she could handle her best friend calling anyone a Mudblood, even if she knew he didn’t believe it.

(Like anyone who actually did would have invented an entire holiday dedicated to the anniversary of Madonna’s _Like A Virgin_ music video.)

Still, Rose knew to prepare herself to want to throttle Draco more often than not. She’d be daft to think everything would be easy--- or anything, really.

“Rose,” Draco’s urgent voice startled her out of her reverie. “I just heard Severus open the front door.”

“Shite!” Rose bolted upright, sweeping the old chess set into its box. Draco made a mad dash for their long-forgotten textbooks, grabbing quills and parchment out from his knapsack. They both arranged themselves and the mess of writing supplies on a nearby table, tripping over each other in their haste to act studious.

When Rose’s dad walked into the sun room, Rose and Draco were in the middle of a rather riveting educational discussion about the care and keeping of flobberworms.

“How was my daughter’s chess strategy this time, Draco?” Rose’s dad asked lightly, sauntering over to peer over her--- _bugger!_ \--- upside down textbook. "As disappointing as always, I assume."

“Dad---” Rose began, only to be cut off by her father’s warm but firm hand on her shoulder.

“I know it’s summer,” her dad said in an almost apologetic tone. “But you _need_ to focus on your studies. Yes, Draco, I mean you as well. Don’t give me that look.”

Draco huffed and sunk into his armchair, looking so very put out that Rose had to choke back a snigger.

“I’m sorry, Dad, really,” Rose replied earnestly. “But we’ll make up the extra time tomorrow.”

“That’s what you said yesterday, Rose.” 

Rose didn’t have a response to that, but her god-brother did.

“We’ll do our work in the study tomorrow, then,” Draco offered. “You can completely control the wards and monitoring charms in there, right Severus? Then we’ll have zero distractions, _and_ we won’t be underfoot all day. It’s a win-win, honestly.”

Rose’s dad huffed and nodded. “While I wish taking such lengths was not necessary in order to get two teenagers to do their summer work, we’ll nonetheless follow that plan.” 

Draco left five minutes later, shooting Rose a grin before stepping into the fireplace. After he was gone, Rose turned towards her dad.

“Your brother had an…” her dad trailed off and sighed, eyes murky. “Incident, let’s say. He used some underage magic to repel some Dementors who just so happened to be drifting around Privet Drive.”

“What does that mean for him?”

Her dad unbuttoned his jacket and draped it over their leather couch. “It means that Albus, the old fool, will finally tell him about the Order, thank Merlin.”

Rose nodded. “And what does it mean for me?”

“It means that next time I visit Headquarters, he’ll be staying there." 

Rose’s jaw dropped. The look in her dad’s eyes told her that this was it. The moment had finally come, and Rose couldn’t care less about the situation that had caused it. Did that make her an insensitive person? Probably. But Snapes were hardly known for their altruism. She grabbed her dad’s hand and squeezed.

A rare smile graced her father’s features, and he’d never looked more happy in all of Rose’s life. 

“Rosie,” he murmured, squeezing her hand in return and brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “I think it’s time you met your brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo sorry for the late update!!! I was just doing some serious character profiling in my writing journal. Did you know that Severus Snape is a Leonard Cohen fan? Well, you will in a couple chapters!
> 
> DRACO IS MY SOFT BOI OKAY
> 
> See you when I see you, my lovelies!


	3. i’m not a pretty machine in your assembly line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Implications of abuse

Draco was _so_ not in the mood for his father’s shite.

To be fair, he never was. But whenever Draco came back from the Snapes’ Cottage, he found himself brooding for hours afterwards. His godfather’s family was small and the cottage was the opposite of luxurious--- but to Draco, who had grown up surrounded in stark white wealth and dozens of tight-lipped relatives, it was surprisingly close to heaven. Severus and Rose made Draco feel like he was better, like he had something inside him worth loving.

And the cottage was filled with love, wasn’t it? Severus was a prickly bastard, sure. But Draco couldn’t deny that his godfather loved him. Draco knew instinctively that Severus would gladly die for him, and Draco knew that wasn’t something to celebrate--- Severus was too bloody brilliant to die--- but it did make him feel a little bit better about himself.

If a man as formidable as Severus Snape saw him worthy, Draco must have something going for him.

But preserving Draco’s good mood was apparently not on The Most Honorable Lucius Abraxas Malfoy’s agenda that evening, if the letter in Draco’s hand was any indication. Draco’s father only sent him letters when he was too busy pureblood-ing to actively seek out his son-- not that Draco begrudged Lucius his penchant for locking himself in his study for hours. And pure-blooding was certainly a step up from Death Eater-ing.

After dismissing Winny, one of Lucius’ favorite (read: most bruised) house elves with a smile he hoped looked sincere, Draco heaved himself onto his bed and held the letter up towards the ceiling to read it.

 _Draco,_  
_According to my wards, it seems you have finally decided to stop ignoring your commitments and come back to the Manor. Messrs. Greengrass, Nott, and Parkinson stopped by throughout the day and I had to tell all of them that you were indisposed. Your absence was most unhelpful. As you very well know, I am attempting to secure a marriage between you and the eldest Greengrass girl--- though Alfred seems only interested in bartering for the younger one, the miser. The Nott family has also offered up Martha’s brother’s sole heir as a wife. You could do much worse, my son, though it is to be noted that Miss Elizabeth Travers is said to be rather unbecoming… No matter. Taking a mistress is always an option, in any case, and a woman could do worse than to become a Malfoy’s mistress. In any event, I would like to discuss some matters with you in person. I’m sending an elf with the letter. I know how long that takes--- so it would most displease me if you were not here presently. I would hate to have to punish such trivialities._  
_Your father,_  
_Lucius Abraxas Malfoy_

Draco snorted at the last line of the letter. Lucius was such a fucking liar--- if the ache in Draco’s neck was any indication of his father’s hatred of doling out punishments. But Lucius did know how long it took Winny to get a letter to this side of the manor, so Draco dragged himself out of bed. After pulling on a casual robe and combing a hand through his hair, he walked quickly to his father’s wing, only stopping to bid his mum good evening.

His mum must have known that Lucius wanted to see Draco, because all she did was greet him briefly and give him a small peck him on the cheek.

 _Damn her_ , Draco thought miserably. _Talking with Mum would have been my only excuse for missing this interrogation._

As Draco moved closer to the closed door of his father’s study, his heartbeat began to thrum loudly in his ears and his palms began to feel slick. He took deep breaths, trying to convince himself that it was going to be fine and failing miserably. Draco knew intellectually that his father wouldn’t have a reason to be angry-- not really. His mum was always very clear that Draco could visit Severus whenever he wished, and it was one of the few decisions that Lucius had no hope of overturning. Draco hadn’t done anything wrong. It would be fine.

Yet, Draco was shaking when his hand grasped the cool silver doorknob to his father’s study. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Draco opened the door and stepped through the threshold before he could lose his nerve.

“Draco,” Lucius greeted him cordially, pushing his pocket watch shut. “Right on time.”

“Hello, Father,” Draco replied, carefully assessing the man in front of him. Lucius looked to be in a good mood, but that could mean a multitude of things, given his current loyalties. But Draco, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, relaxed slightly. “What can I do for you?”

Lucius smiled and beckoned Draco forward with an outstretched arm. As he complied, Draco noted how his father pushed a paper underneath a red book on his desk with the other hand.

After motioning for Draco to sit in the chair in front of the desk, Lucius began. “Something rather exciting is happening, son,” Lucius’ voice was intense, and his eyes were alight with a kind of passion Draco had never seen before. “A new golden age is fast approaching in our world, and our family will serve as its bannermen.”

“Father?”

“You are still young, my son. But worry not, I am solidifying plans for you to officially join us next year.”

Draco shot up out of his seat, forgetting for a moment how rude it was. His mind was reeling. “Next year?” He asked hotly, inwardly flinching at Lucius’ glare. “But--- I won’t be of age. Surely---”

“Sit down this instant,” Lucius said softly, his gray eyes betraying hints of fury. “Do not force my wand.”

Draco gulped, but did not obey. He knew that he’d eventually have to have this argument, with his father being so deeply entrenched in the ranks of that madman. He’d just thought he’d have more time. A year was not long enough to make the arrangements necessary for him to safely refuse to take the Mark. He needed to gradually withdraw from his Gringotts account, find a place to stay, a job…

“Draco Lucius Malfoy,” Lucius warned, his voice laced with danger as his hand moved slowly downwards to his desk drawers. “I will not ask again.”

“Seventeen,” Draco replied, ignoring the warning. “Let me wait until I’m seventeen. Please, Father. I’ll be more help, then.”

Lucius arched one eyebrow, clearly still angry at Draco’s impertinence, but no longer reaching for his spare wand. Draco took that as a sign to continue.

“For one thing, underage wizards have the Trace. If I went out with a task force on a mission, that fool Fudge would be all over the group in seconds. Not to mention that I’d know loads more magic by then.”

Draco watched in a kind of morbid fascination as Lucius nodded. This man was his father, the man who had been his hero not too long ago. He had been Draco's everything, and now? Now he was simply an obstacle to be surmounted.

His father’s eyes remained steely. Time for the grand finale, then.

“Father,” Draco tried to keep his voice level and polite. “I do not want to risk embarrassing you or dishonoring our good name. Should my magical knowledge be incomplete, I would shame you.”

_There it is._

Lucius smiled viciously, nodding in satisfaction. “It is good to see that my tutelage has not gone to waste. You are correct. It would do no good for further negativity be associated with our family. Your dirty-blooded godfather brings us enough shame as it is.”

Draco would have defended Severus had he not been so relieved. But after the insult, Lucius had dismissed him with a wave of his hand, and Draco didn’t want to push his luck. He bid his father goodbye and hastened back to his room.

He’d managed to delay the inevitable for two more years. He’d be able to stave off running for two more years. Until then, Draco would parade as the model son. A son Lucius Malfoy could be proud of.

(Not that he really had any choice.)


	4. someone's out there sending out flares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry should really establish a quota for the amount of existential crises he encounters in a week.

When Harry entered the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, he hadn’t been expecting to see Molly Weasley and Severus Snape of all people in a heated argument. Sirius and Snape would argue all the time, Hermione had said, but even Ron had forlornly admitted that the git treated Mrs. Weasley with a strange amount of courtesy, even having gone so far as to make grocery runs when she asked. But it seemed that the peace of the last couple weeks had shattered as the two sniped at one another.

“I assure you, Mrs. Weasley, I am perfectly healthy,” Snape was grumbling peevishly, running a hand through his greasy hair. His relative calm made Harry think that the man was thoroughly exhausted. “I do _not_ need an entire casserole.”

“Oh, phooey,” Mrs. Weasley huffed loudly. She was somehow making setting the table seem like a battle cry, slamming the plates down with all her strength before turning on Snape, sporting a frigid stare and poking her finger to his chest. “You, young man---”

“ _I_ am thirty-five, woman,” Snape snapped, cutting Mrs. Weasley off with a waspish tone that Harry was happy to see didn’t phase the shorter woman in the slightest. “And a seasoned spy. I am more than capable of feeding myself.”

“If you were  _actually_ a fully-functioning adult, Severus Snape, you would not be skin and bones! I hope to Merlin that at least that girl of yours is getting fed because otherwise--- ”

The mood shifted in the room so quickly that Harry got whiplash.

“Do not _ever_ ,” Snape snarled icily, causing even Harry, who was not yet fully in the room, to flinch at his tone. All semblance of patience was gone as Snape continued furiously, his eyes narrow and dangerous. “Insinuate that Rose is uncared for. She is given _every_ luxury I can afford. And she does not need an undercooked, inedible, poor excuse for a casserole _foisted_ upon her father in an ill attempt at charity in order to eat! Good day, Mrs. Weasley.”

Snape didn’t even bother to hear Mrs. Weasley’s retort before he made to stalk out of the room. Harry hurriedly stepped out of the entryway to let him by, hoping that the professor wouldn’t notice him. But Harry should have known better. Snape never missed an opportunity to be vile.

“Potter,” he spat out, venom laced in his words. Harry turned to look right into the man’s dark eyes, not allowing himself to be cowed. “Do tell your beloved _mutt_ that I expect his answer before all but the Dark Lord die of old age. I’m sure that meager task is not beyond even _your_ miniscule skill set.”

Harry didn’t have time to tell Snape to stick that _task_ up his Death Easter arse before the man was sweeping out of the room. Snape shouted “Snape Cottage!” as he Flooed away, and Harry failed to suppress a shiver at the thought of Snape’s home. Somehow, the prick even made the idea of a cottage sound dark and terrible.

Mrs. Weasley did not seem at all angry, like Harry had expected. No one insulted Molly Weasley’s cooking and was spared a verbal lashing. But she was still, seeming as if she’d seen one of the Headless Horsemen. Harry walked towards her as she slowly lowered herself on a chair on the far side of the kitchen table.

“He’s a right fool if he doesn’t like your casserole, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry told her brightly, hoping his false cheer would help as he took a seat next to her. He’d never seen Mrs. Weasley so pale. Had Snape hexed her while Harry wasn’t looking? “I’d bet you ten thousand Galleons that it’s the best casserole in all of London.”

Mrs. Weasley gave a shaky laugh, gripping his left hand, which had been absentmindedly tracing the grain of the table, in her right. She shook her head.

“He loves my casserole, Harry,” she told him, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. “That wasn’t why he was upset.”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry raised his eyebrows and nodded towards the door Snape had used to storm away. He continued lightly.“He looked pretty offended. He’s a Pureblood supremacist, yeah? He probably considers you a sort of blood traitor and doesn’t want to be infected by your delicious casserole.”

“Harry,” Mrs. Weasley sighed, looking in his eyes tiredly. “You don’t know everything about Severus. I doubt you know much at all.”

“Good. I don’t want to know that tosser.”

“Language!” Mrs. Weasley snapped as she wagged a finger at Harry. “You may not like the professor--- and to be frank I can’t blame you at this point. But don’t you start anything, young man. He has enough to deal with right now.”

“Sure,” Harry replied, trying very hard to ignore how dreadfully scary Mrs. Weasley was at the moment. “He’s a spy.”

“Not just a spy, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley told him firmly, but not unkindly. “He’s a father, too. A father who is terribly worried about his only child. A child who I might as well have called neglected. Like Severus wouldn’t move heaven and earth for that girl of his...” Mrs. Weasley trailed off, pained.

Harry was silent as Mrs. Weasley began setting the dinner napkins to rights unhappily. A _father._ Snape, dungeon bat extraordinaire, was a bloody father. As in, Severus Snape, the ugly, people-hating git, who had tormented countless children in his life, had an actual real life child.

It looked like Harry still had a couple more existential crises to face before the day was through.

* * *

 “Her name’s Rosaline and she’s almost fifteen,” Remus was saying while Harry and Sirius played cards. Remus himself was flipping through one of Ron's magazines half-heartedly, clearly not registering a word of it. “But that’s about all Albus told us.”

Sirius snorted before turning away from his hand and looking at Harry, his eyes dancing. “If Moony ever stopped being a boring old swot he’d know more,” he confided. “I’ve been listening to Snape’s conversations with Minerva and the like---”

“Then please, O Glorious One, share your wisdom,” Remus drawled as he chucked the magazine at Harry’s godfather’s head. “Leave not a word unspoken.”

Harry snorted as Sirius gifted Remus a rather rude hand gesture before he slamming his cards on the table. He smiled, all white teeth.

“Come then, my children,” Sirius crowed, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulder and hauling him onto an overstuffed couch to sit next to him. “Let Grandpapa Sirius tell you his tale.”

Harry laughed and tucked a pillow underneath his head before settling down to listen. What Sirius said next was sure to be interesting.

“So, I’ve only heard bits and pieces, mind, but it paints a pretty interesting picture,” Sirius began, lacing his fingers together on top of his crossed legs. “Moony’s right-- she’s just about your age, Harry. Snape calls her Rose instead of Rosaline, but he’s called her his punishment from God more than once-- not too sure if the bloke was joking. Minerva knows her, clearly, since she’s always asking after her. She’s apparently very close with Snivelly’s godson, is wasting her Potions potential, and can make a mean pasta, but that’s all the fun stuff I’ve been able to glean. Mostly the git just worries. Incessantly.”

“Well, that’s understandable,” Remus said, a pensive look on his face. “He’s probably the most at risk out of the whole Order, being our only spy and all.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. He’s _our_ spy.”

Remus opened his mouth to protest, but seemingly thought better of rehashing the same old quarrel and shook his head before turning to Harry. “Minerva seems to think she’s a good kid. So try not to give her too hard a time, alright Harry?”

“How could I? It’s not like she’s upstairs rooming with Ginny and Hermione.”

Sirius and Remus exchanged a glance and Sirius sighed loudly, derision coming off him in waves.

“Because, Harry. It seems that Snape’s brat is sick of homeschooling– She’ll be joining you all at Hogwarts in the fall."

Well _fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the late update! I just started college, and it's been beyond crazy.I'll try to be a bit more regular now that things have settled.


	5. I'm reminded the night is only half the time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or: 12:45 am is an acceptable time to have meeting if you have the right attitude

_It was dark and shadows danced across granite tombstones, each one taking a different form-- there, his mum and dad lying on cold linoleum--- there, Ron and Hermione reaching out for him with bloody hands---- there, Sirius pacing in a cell, raving mad--- there, Remus howling at the moon, his body shaking--- there, Cedric._

_But he and Cedric were still holding the gold cup. Cedric’s breath was still warm against his ear. Harry turned, expecting to see the blonde boy’s carefree grin and bright blue eyes, but instead it was a white corpse, mouth blackened and rotting. It opened its eyes._

_Its eyes were blood red and Harry cried out, his voice high and eerie._

_“Kill the spare!” he screamed. “Kill the spare!”_

Harry bolted upright, breathing heavily. Sweat poured off of him as he ran a hand through his hair and tried to slow down his heart rate. Ron was still fast asleep, if the soft snoring under the mountain of quilts on the other side of the bedroom was any indication, but Harry didn’t think he’d be able to do the same for the rest of the night.

“It was just a dream,” he told himself, swinging his legs over so they dangled off the twin bed. “Just a horrible, terrifying, awful dream.”

Strangely, saying that didn’t help.

Harry sighed. He was a mess, covered in sweat and shaking like crazy. Grabbing his robe and putting on his slippers, he padded over to where Mrs. Weasley had left a few folded towels. Maybe a shower would calm him down. He needed the sleep--- the whole townhouse was a sty, and Mrs. Weasley seemed hard pressed to let that stand.

“What ever happened to relaxing summer holidays?” Harry muttered as he slipped out of the room. Ron still hadn’t stirred. Good.

Harry was headed down the hall when he heard a bang and a flurry of whispers from down the stairs. He was going to ignore it and go shower, really he was, but he had had the most boring few weeks of his life. A peek couldn’t hurt--- in fact it might help him find out all the secrets the Order was keeping from him.

Carefully so as not to alert the other people to his presence, Harry went down the stairs, pleased to hear that the whispers were becoming clearer and to see that no one had yet thought to turn off the downstairs lights. But when he was about five steps from the landing, he saw who it was. Frankly, it was a little disappointing.

“I don’t want you or your spawn anywhere near my house, Snivellus---” Sirius was saying dangerously, his eyes black and frightening. His voice was laced with malice, and his breath was coming in quick, angry bursts. Even from here, Harry could see a red mark across Snape’s face.

“Spawn?” Snape hissed, his voice slick with hatred. “Is that what you call a normal fifteen-year- old girl, Black? Spawn?”

“What else would you call animal offspring?” Harry’s godfather replied, his smirk sharp. “And no kid of yours would turn out normal. Tell me, when did she start playing dress-up with your old robes?”

Snape didn’t respond to this, and that’s how Harry knew Sirius was dead meat. Everyone at Hogwarts knew that a silent Snape was one to be avoided. If he was talking, Snape wasn’t devoting _all_ of his brain power to figuring out how to make your murder look like an accident. Just about seventy-five percent of it. Otherwise…

“I don’t know what to say to that,” the professor finally said stonily, but much more levelly than Harry had anticipated. “Other than this. Rose is a good girl with her head on straight. She likes crappy music and cooking breakfast at ungodly hours of the night and she has more raw power in her little finger than you and I have combined. You do a disservice to yourself and to everyone here to bar her from coming to visit. But it’s your house, Black. Your house, indeed.”

Sirius couldn’t think of anything to say to that, it was obvious. Harry was going to go back upstairs (after a quick prayer for his godfather’s soul) when Kreacher appeared right next to him and scared him out of his wits.

He ended up falling down the last few stairs rather spectacularly, much to his embarrassment. His ankle immediately began to throb. Sirius and Snape both simultaneously drew their wands at the sound and rushed over. At seeing him, Sirius sighed and pocketed his wand once more.

“Thank Merlin, it’s just you,” he laughed and Harry smiled back weakly, despite the pain in his ankle.

Snape still hadn’t put down his wand, but Harry saw that his dark eyes were scanning the stairs, not him, so he relaxed a bit.

That was, until Snape decided to kneel down and take a strong hold of his ankle.

“Bloody hell!” Harry gasped, tears threatening to form in his eyes. 

“Snivellus, get your hands---”

“It’s not broken,” Snape cut them both off, studying Harry’s ankle carefully. “Badly sprained, but we are wizards for a reason. _Episkey_ ”

The pain in Harry’s ankle began to subside and he breathed a sigh of relief. But Snape continued.

“You’d best be careful of that Kreacher, Potter,” he said smoothly, standing back up in one fluid motion and pocketing his wand. Harry scrambled to get up too, using Sirius’ proffered hand as leverage. “He likes to patrol the stairs at night. Something about keeping filth out of dear Walburga’s kitchen. A _Lumos_ charm should suffice.”

“How did you know it was Kreacher?”

Snape raised one dark eyebrow and Harry huffed.

“How did you know it was Kreacher, _sir_?”

“Simple,” Snape replied haughtily, flicking a microscopic piece of lint off of his coat. “He attempted to frighten me.”

Harry couldn’t help but grin. “Attempted?”

Harry might have imagined it--- he certainly convinced himself that he did later on--- but in that moment, it looked like Snape’s hard eyes softened as he smirked.

“Indeed.”

With a curt nod to Harry, Snape left him and Sirius for the living room, once more calling out “Snape Cottage” before disappearing into the fireplace.

“Good riddance,” Sirius grumbled before turning to Harry. “What are you doing up?”

Harry didn’t think Sirius was in much of a position to be criticizing Harry’s sleeping habits, but he let it slide, seeing as Azkaban prisoners probably operated under different schedules than normal wizards. Instead Harry shrugged.

“Nightmare,” he replied nonchalantly. “Why was Snape here?”

Sirius snorted. “Wanted to discuss something with me. Could only make this time and Albus made me agree. Waste of time though.”

Harry nodded. “Why wouldn’t you let his daughter come visit?”

Sirius laughed, but this time it seemed a little forced. “James and I used to eavesdrop all the time. Found out half of the information we needed for the map that way. Your father’s son, you are.”

The older man looked at Harry fondly before continuing.

“It would be a bad influence. We don’t need any more Slytherins lurking about. Bad enough we have Snivelly.”

“And Emmeline,” Harry prompted softly, his eyes scanning his godfather once more. He was hiding something. And Harry was sick of adults hiding things. So he gave Sirius all he got. “And Hestia Jones. And Podmore.”

Sirius thought a moment.

“They’re not real Slytherins,” he decided finally. “They’re here, aren’t they?”

Harry rolled his eyes and turned back to go upstairs, ignoring Sirius whispering for him to come back. He grabbed his towel from the top landing where he’d left it, and headed to finally take that shower. As he undressed, he looked at his ankle, which was as good as new. No swelling at all. Harry thought again about the red mark on Snape’s face and winced.

Sirius had never asked Harry about his nightmare. But that was just as well.


	6. i'll do it all for you in time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose fumes, Severus plots, and Minerva is a cat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! I'll try to post more regularly.

Rose hated Tuesday’s. They were smack dab in between Monday’s, which were awful, but at least offered a weekly clean slate, and Wednesday’s, which at least gave a girl some hope that the week might end. But Tuesday’s were this useless, terrible day when nothing interesting happened and the weekend was a distant dream. This Tuesday was especially horrid, if not the most awful Rose had ever had. She’d gotten gum stuck in her hair, Draco had had to cancel their plans, _and_ Rose had caught Richard kissing Diana Fitzgerald in the playpark. So the news that she had been banned from Order headquarters was just the rotten cherry on top of the rotten cake.

“What do you _mean_ I can’t go?” Rose said again, her face red.

“I mean you can’t go, love, that’s all,” her dad replied, calmly using his wand to transfer spaghetti into her waiting bowl. Usually such an action would make her smile, since it was only something he did when he was impatient to eat, which Rose always encouraged. But she was too furious to soften even a little. She huffed loudly and glared daggers at him.

“But you said––”

“Goddamnit, Rose, I did what I could,” her father interrupted quickly and harshly, which promptly made Rose reconsider the situation. Dad never cut her off, especially not during arguments. He always said that her voice mattered and tried his best to allow room for it in ways his parents hadn’t for his own. Even during the screaming row they had gotten into last summer about Draco, the worst they’d ever had, he had kept his mouth shut until she’d said her piece. “Let it go.”

Her dad breathed deeply through his nose before taking the seat next to her, passing her some grated cheese from Mrs. Willow’s cart. That alone made Rose’s chest ache. That cheese was bloody expensive–– Dad had clearly been expecting her to be upset, must’ve been beyond stressed. And now Rose felt guilty, and she _hated_ feeling guilty. Especially when her dad was involved–– hurting him was like a hurting a small, disgruntled kitten, and to make matters worse he _never_ let her get through her full apology before forgiving her.

She silently sprinkled a bit of cheese into her bowl before passing the chipped ceramic cup back to her Dad, but he didn’t partake. Spinning his fork through the long strands of pasta, her dad opened his mouth to apologize for his temper, but for once, Rose beat him to it.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” she murmured, letting her elbow touch his. “I know that if it was up to you, I’d be allowed to go.”

“If it was up to me, your brother would be at the table with us,” he replied tersely, but he still nudged her back quietly. It was sign between the two of them–– one that he’d invented when she was little and struggled with differentiating normal language and that of her Eye. It was a small, tangible reminder of the fact that no matter what, the two of them were family. And family mattered.

“But maybe it’s for the best,” her dad continued, taking a sip from his glass and grimacing. “There would hardly have been a welcome wagon waiting for you there.”

“There’s never a welcome wagon waiting for me anywhere, Dad,” Rose snorted, flicking a small piece of broccoli at him and giggling at his glare. “Your blessed surname makes sure of that.”

She’d thought that the end of it, but then he silently spelled the rest of her food bright pink. Rose swore loudly, but smiled inwardly as he smirked, satisfied with his revenge. They’d have to keep talking about the situation, of course. But he was so clearly worried and so obviously stressed that she turned the conversation towards the merits of eating Transfigured food happily.

 _If it was up to me, your brother would be at the table with us_ he’d said. But it had been clear that wasn’t all he wanted. But what he, what _they_ wanted was impossible. So Rose decided she’d hold off on bothering him about the visit, if only to make sure he knew that he’d never lose her like he’d lost Mum and Jonny. Not yet, and not ever.

* * *

They were sitting in their living room when the Floo roared to life, Rose’s dad’s long legs spread out on their raggedy sofa and Rose laying on her stomach, tracing patterns on their hardwood floor as he read aloud from _The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner_ . It was an old favorite of his. Rose liked the story, too, of course, but she’d rather he’d chosen something like _Pride & Prejudice _ or a book equally less macabre for that night. There was enough demented shit going on with the war. The two of them didn’t really need to read a psychological horror story about a man who the devil drove insane. It hit a bit too close to home.

But the story was interrupted when a harried Minerva McGonagall stepped through the fireplace. Rose’s face lit up at the sight of her godmother.

“Minerva!” She crowed, scrambling out of her seated position to embrace the older woman. She smiled into Minerva’s robes as the woman huffed with mock indignation at the sudden welcome.

“Rose Snape,” Minerva laughed and eased Rose off of her to grip her shoulders before looking her up and down with those flinty eyes of hers. “I think you’ve gotten taller since I saw you last. Prettier too.” Rose laughed and scrunched up her nose as her godmother tapped it twice.

“Nope,” she replied, popping the _p_. “I just have more freckles, is all.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t visited more often, luv.”

Rose shrugged good-naturedly and dragged Minerva over to one of the two armchairs in the living room, grinning at her father as he snapped his book shut while glaring at their guest. She herself plunked down at Minerva’s feet with crossed legs before leaning back against her godmother’s legs.

“I was reading,” he accused Minerva, tapping his long fingers loudly on the cover of the book.

“When are you not?” Minerva shot back, an amused spark in her sharp eyes. Rose’s dad rolled his eyes but placed the book down next to him, not bothering to mark the page they were reading. He sat up with a groan, stretching his long arms over his head before responding.

“Not that I’m disappointed, Minerva,” Rose’s dad said, weaving his fingers together and placing his chin on the steepled digits. “But I was under the impression that you were in France visiting your cousin.”

“I was,” Minerva accused, a bit of bite in her words. “And I was enjoying myself. But I received a letter from Albus last night regarding some impulsive decisions you’ve made recently and I thought it best that I deal with it instead of letting Albus make your life even more difficult.”

Rose gaped as her dad actually looked abashed, his pale skin actually taking on a pinkish tinge. Sometimes it was easy to forget her dad was only in his thirties, very young in comparison to Minerva and the Headmaster.

“It won’t interfere with the security––”

“Oh, I know that,” Minerva smirked, her tone a bit more light-hearted. “And I think it was marvelously done. But Sirius is one of Albus’ favorites, Severus. Honestly, that was a very fine line you just walked.”  
  
“I walked it, didn’t I?” Rose’s father suddenly looked much more at ease, secure in Minerva’s approval of his actions. But what actions were they?

“What’s going on?” Rose finally asked, sick of being left out. She tilted her head up to look at Minerva and narrowed her eyes. “What did my idiot father do this time?”

Minerva laughed again, her harsh face alighting with it while Rose’s father sputtered.

“Your idiot father decided it would be a good idea to contact the actual Black heir,” Minerva told Rose, absent-mindedly smoothing Rose’s hair out of her face. “He wrote your _other_ godmother and very innocently asked about the state of Grimmauld Place. Which got Narcissa to ask a few pointed questions to the Ministry’s Inheritance Office about procuring it, which in turn spooked the Order’s liaison and forced Albus to run damage control. The official story is now that Number 12 was destroyed in a fight between the two Black brothers and was made Unplottable because of the amount of Dark Magic still in the foundations of the house. Very helpful for Order security, actually, which is the reason your father will give at the next meeting, but also very worrying for a one Sirius Black.”

“He called her my spawn, Minerva,” Rose’s dad growled and Rose felt her godmother tense. But Rose decided not to tackle that particular comment and instead focused on her father’s retaliation.

“You showed him that you have all the power,” Rose gasped, realizating dawning on her, turning towards her dad. “You showed him that he’s living on your good will, not the other way around. But if anyone says that––”

“I’ll have another, extremely valid and helpful reason to share,” her father finished succinctly, smiling at her deduction. But then his face clouded, and he leaned back into the sofa, its springs creaking loudly. “But it was for nothing, I suppose. That was my trump card, and he still won’t let you visit once.”

“Maybe you’re going about it the wrong way,” Minerva wondered, her brow furrowing. “You’re coming to him first, giving him the chance to refuse.”

“I can’t just bring her there, Minnie,” Severus countered. “Albus told me I need permission, and I'm not stupid enough to publicly stand up to Albus.”

“He told you that,” Minerva replied, her smile mischievous and a bit worrisome, if Rose was being honest. Her godmother had never looked so feline. “But he didn’t say anything to _me_.”

Rose decided she may actually like Tuesday’s after all.


	7. i could be heavenly if baby you just rescued me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa is a dirty cheat, Draco is conflicted, and Mindy failed him.
> 
> tw: implications of child abuse

Narcissa Black Malfoy was a proud woman, and Draco couldn’t think of a time when she’d had a single hair out of place. Her clothes were immaculate, her manners were cool and confident, and she was still as pretty as she had been on her wedding day about 18 years prior. But when she and her son were alone, her eyes lost that detached veneer and her smile was leagues warmer. She was most beautiful when they were alone.

Right now she was smirking at him, having just won the first game with Draco’s new deck of cards. Draco idly wondered if this is how she looked when she was young, when she was the youngest of three sisters who loved each other fiercely. He’d only seen a few old photographs of her then, but while her hair had been shorter and her face a bit rounder, the mischievous glint in her blue eyes was the same. Draco loved it, and he loved her.

But that did not change the fact that his mother was a dirty cheat.

“The game was fixed,” he informed her sternly, slapping his cards down on the table and leaning forward on his elbows. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Lady Malfoy. A woman of your station resorting to such dastardly measures in a friendly game with your only son and heir.”

His mother laughed loudly and leaned forward conspiratorially, her eyes bright. “It’s not cheating if you don’t get caught.”

“Well, I caught you.”

“Did you?” his mother asked, raising one perfectly manicured eyebrow and pursed her lips. “Are you sure you didn’t have Mindy keep an eye on me while we played?”

“Delegating tasks that you cannot hope to accomplish on your own is a pragmatic way to tackle problems, Mother!” Draco cried, glaring good-naturedly at the old elf who shrugged his shoulders by way of apology. “Mindy is a much more effective spy than I could ever be.”

“That is undoubtedly true,” his mother smirked, pouring herself a cup of tea and thanking Mindy when he handed her the sugar bowl. “You inherited my mother’s big mouth.”

“My mouth is patently normal-sized, thank-you-very-much!”

“One day, I pray,” Narcissa sighed morosely. “I will say something critical and you will not turn around and prove the point.”

Draco huffed and stole her teacup in retaliation, taking a long drink.

“I’m going to tell Severus you cheat at cards,” he finally muttered petulantly, absentmindedly fiddling with the teaspoon.

“Who do you think taught me?” his mother grinned, standing and coming to sit next to him on the loveseat and running her long fingers through his hair.

“What?” Draco all but squawked, turning towards his mother. He quickly set aside his teacup and grasped her hands in his. “Tell me everything, Mum. Otherwise I’ll never forgive you for cheating at cards and pretending that you weren’t caught red-handed.”

Narcissa rolled her eyes at him before she began.

“I could scarcely believe it when it first happened,” her voice had taken on an almost hypnotic tone, as if this was a sort of bedtime story Narcissa concocted to cheer him up and Draco was six again, crying into his pillow because Daddy had missed another family dinner. “This little first year won all of Lucius’ allowance in one night of poker after having gone through the entire House. It was madness–– no one could believe it. They all thought he was cheating–– he must have been, Lucius and Bast were the best card players in the House. But the anti-cheating charms didn’t detect a thing, so by two in the morning he’d very happily marched up to the Owlery and sent the 500 Galleons he’d won to his mum. But here’s the problem,” she lowered her voice. “Everyone expected him to be using magic to cheat. But Severus was much too clever. He knew magic would get him caught, and besides he was only eleven–– what magic did he know? He counted cards.”

Draco furrowed his brow. “He what?”

“Counted cards. It’s a way of keeping track of what card is where using memorization and logic. Very difficult to master, of course. I’m only a novice. But Severus learned from watching his father lose to a visitor at the local pub. And he taught himself.”

“And he’s teaching you?”

“Well there’s nothing else we can do in his study while you and Rose galavant around Robin Hood’s Bay,” Narcissa snorted indignantly, making Draco grin. “He refuses to drink anything I bring him. Why, last year, he binned a glass of the 1883 elf wine vintage I brought. He binned it, Draco! Can you imagine?”

“He doesn’t drink,” Draco replied, shrugging. “And he normally has alcohol banned from the Cottage entirely. You’re lucky he let you drink your own wine. I would’ve expected him to bin the entire bottle.”

“I would've liked to see him try,” his mum retorted archly and Draco laughed before his mother sobered. “It’s probably because of his father. The man was a scoundrel, and drank far too much and too often. I don’t blame him for being worried, even if I know he’d never turn out that way.”

Draco hummed and leaned his head on his mother’s shoulder, breathing deeply. She was wearing a new perfume, he noted, as he closed his eyes. She smelled like jasmine and vanilla and chamomile tea, and Draco felt at peace for the first time that day. When his mum was with him, Draco could pretend for a little while. He could pretend that he was in a normal family; that Draco and Narcissa were just waiting for his nice, normal father to come home from work and take them out to eat.

But his mum didn’t know everything that there was under the sun, despite her own protestations of the fact, so she didn’t understand that he’d needed the conversation about fathers to end where she’s started it.

“We’re fortunate, my love,” his mum murmured, wrapping a thin arm around his shoulders and pressing a kiss on his head. “Your father loves you and I so very much. You’re lucky to be his son.”

He bit his lip to keep himself from telling her everything. She didn’t know. That was the entire point–– she loved his father fiercely, and Lucius was all she had left in the world with her sisters estranged and in Azkaban. And Lucius was good to her. Draco wanted to tell her, of course. Desperately. His father had been hurting Draco for his entire life, and he wasn’t deluded enough to believe Lucius when his father said Draco deserved it. Because Narcissa loved him, and Severus loved him, and Rose loved him, so he _must_ be worth loving. This was Lucius.

But it would break his mother’s heart to learn the truth, Draco knew that deep in his once-broken bones. And Draco refused to be the cause of his mother’s pain. Narcissa was clever and sharp and loved with her whole heart and Draco would not ruin the few bits of happiness she held so closely to her chest. So he took another deep breath and smiled even more widely.

“No,” he declared, his heart leaping to his throat as he tried to keep his eyes from watering. He bumped his forehead against Narcissa's. “I’m lucky to be _your_ son.”

His mother’s answering grin lit up the whole room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I UPDATED TWICE IN A MONTH WOW THIS IS NEW AND DIFFERENT
> 
> Check out the new summary! I made Book One's previous summary the series summary because I think it's a lot more all-encompassing. Let me know what you all think.
> 
> I've been getting some lovely comments. Thank you for your words! You have no idea how important comments are, especially on stories like this one. I have 5 books and an epilogue one-shot planned for this series, and it's the comments that keep me from getting *too* discouraged. So even if it's just a 'wow what a piece of trash' I'd really love to hear it! 
> 
> Sending hearts and Honeyduke's your way,  
> JewFlexive


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